


Stricken

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: Mortal Stories [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Blood and Violence, Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Curses, Death, Divorce, Emotional Hurt, Father-Son Relationship, Fights, Hunter Jesse McCree, Hunter Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Hurt No Comfort, Jack Needs a Hug, Jack-Centric, M/M, Monster Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Monsters, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, POV Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Past Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Post-Divorce, Pre-Relationship, Protective Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Secret Children, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Threats of Violence, Vampire Genji Shimada, Vampire Hanzo Shimada, Werewolves, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Witch Curses, Witch Moira O'Deorain, Witches, the jesse/oc is vague and just getting set up in this, the original character is jack's kid, who is an adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: He found Him in the woods, six years after the battle.The Reaper.A ghastly, hulking beast made of pitch dark shadows and a stark, white owl’s face. His wings stretched into the branches of the trees, talons curling into the dirt and another set of them braced on the crumbling remains of an old fence. He was growling, low in the back of his throat, in his chest. His eyes were black pits within the barn owl’s visage that was his face, lit deep within by a sickly orange light.And Jack, for the first time since the battle, felt fear.Nothing had scared him in the six years since ― nothing had touched him deeply enough to inspire so much as a tickle of it. Werewolves, vampires, dream-eating demons. Wraiths. All manner of terrifying things, things that had even managed to bring him fear in the past… And yet none of it had touched him. None of it came close.But this creature did.This creature shot a spike of fear so deeply into his stomach that he almost bolted.
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada, Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Jesse McCree & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Jesse McCree/Original Male Character(s), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Mortal Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088753
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. from the top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of choppy - it's mostly setting up the AU and letting y'all know what's happening until we get to "current times" in the AU. I'll probably expand on the past bits later lol
> 
> 'Nother chapter coming, probably tomorrow. Should only be three total.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> note: "werewolves" here refers to both Lycanthropes and Wolf-shifters, though the distinction is made between them when it's pertinent. Just lettin' y'all know there's both

Hunting was in the family business, for Jack Morison ― something his dad did, and his grandfather before him, and his great-grandfather before him. Something he always knew he was going to end up doing as well.

So when he was old enough, he joined the Guild as he was expected to. He went on hunts as he was expected to. He fought his way up through the ranks until he was on the Council. Until he was one of the highest in the Guild.

And it was fulfilling, for the most part, but he was lonely.

He was 23, then.

And then someone new joined the Guild ― a man from the far South, calling himself Gabriel Reyes.

He took to hunting like a duck to water, and to Jack much the same, and Jack couldn’t help taking to him just as easily. And then they were partnered up, and they hit it off even better, and Gabe climbed the ranks, into the Council, and by then they were so dearly in love with each other that they decided to say “Hell with it” and get married. The rest of the Council supported the action, of course, and they had a lovely wedding.

And it was great.

Jack was happily married by his 25th birthday.

He and Gabe were all but inseparable.

And then Jesse McCree was brought in, and they decided to mentor him personally, because he was  _ 14 _ and he needed to be watched over, not just… Taught. And he became a capable hunter in no time at all, rose up to their rank quickly enough… Or, well, a rank below them, where he seemed happy to stay. Still an Elite, but not on the Council. He was 15.

Jack felt pretty fulfilled, if he was honest.

Felt like he’d accomplished himself very well. Got onto the Council, got married, took in and taught someone he considered a good friend despite the age gap, and pretty much lived happily-ever-fucking-after.

…

Except, no.

He didn’t.

* * *

He and Gabriel weren’t known to do anything halfway.

That included fights.

Even with each other.

And he didn’t know what he’d done, for sure, that started this one, but he knew it was his fault. Knew Gabe only got like this when he felt suitably slighted and that he must have personally done  _ something _ to make Gabe feel that way. Even if he hadn’t done it on purpose, and even if Gabe could be a drama queen, they didn’t get into fights over  _ nothing. _ Gabe didn’t act like this unless he really thought he needed to.

So when Gabriel had said he wanted to separate, Jack was astonished and heartbroken but he’d agreed because he didn’t want Gabe to feel ignored and not listened to on top of already being upset with him.

He sat up the whole night crying, of course.

In Jesse’s room because he didn’t want to chance Gabe seeing him like that. Not when they were fighting. He didn’t want to accidentally guilt Gabe into staying. He knew seeing him cry would have Gabe on his knees in an instant, apologizing. Taking it all back.

He didn’t know for sure, yet, if Gabe  _ needed _ to take any of it back. If he’d blown something out of proportion or if Jack had actually done something.

They barely saw each other for  _ months _ after that, and it tore Jack to pieces to have lost part of his happily ever after so soon. To have lost  _ Gabe, _ of all things. He may have been able to handle losing his rank, the approval of the rest of the Guild and the world, or even Jesse’s friendship.

Losing Gabe made him want to cry every second of every day.

He tried to talk to him about it, of course, but every single time they were interrupted ― they got too loud too quickly and someone came to separate them. Force them to calm down. And Jack just wanted to know why they kept  _ fighting. _ Why he couldn’t get a straight answer.

“... Have y’talked to Gabe?” Jesse asked, one night, almost a year after the separation ― Jack was drinking, because he felt like shit and didn’t want to exist.

Jack leveled him with an unimpressed look.

It wasn’t Jesse’s fault, of course, and he would  _ never _ try to imply it was, but the question rankled uncomfortably and he was already in a shit mood.

“Have you met Gabe?” He had asked in return, finally, probably too flat, anxiously twisting his wedding ring around and around on his finger. “He’s obviously made up his mind. There’s no fucking point anymore. We haven’t talked to each other without screaming since before he decided he wanted to separate.”

“... He still hasn’t told ya what y’did?”

“If he had, I’d have tried to fix it by now.”

Jesse had looked unsettled, and Jack had knocked his beer back like a shot ― took it to the head in one swig.

* * *

One of his solaces, at the time, was a woman from the village the Guild found its home in ― Charlie Molina. Charming and sweet little thing, with his sense of humor and a wife who would throw down for her at the barest hint of disrespect. He’d known her a while, already, but once the separation happened she became his best friend. The one he could bitch to confidently, with no fear anything he said would get repeated to Gabe because she didn’t know him, and she  _ encouraged _ his bitching with every breath.

But then the divorce papers had arrived, slipped under the door of the room he used to share with Gabe.

He almost burst into tears immediately upon processing what they were, but refrained.

Simply picked them up, went to Charlie’s place, and got drunk with her.

Inevitably, she convinced him to sign them, and he did so. She had him sign something else, too, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

He didn’t remember most of that night, honestly.

He just remembered waiting several days, re-reading the divorce papers until he could have recited them from memory, before he slid them under Gabe’s new door and locked himself in his room until the Guildmaster called him to finalize the divorce.

He showed up, but he remembered little of the proceedings.

He stared through the wall more than he stared  _ at _ it. He didn’t look Gabe in the eyes the whole time for fear he’d burst into tears right then and there. And maybe that just dug his grave deeper ― maybe having agreed to the separation had dug his grave for him in the first place. He didn’t know.

He’d say that he didn’t  _ care, _ either, but that would be a lie.

He just wished that Gabe would have  _ told him what he did wrong. _

“I trust you two can remain professional, in the future?” The Guildmaster had asked, white brow lifting.

“Of course.” Gabe had said, and his voice was so cold and distant that Jack almost cried anyway.

“Of course,” Jack had echoed, steadier than he’d expected.

The Guildmaster departed.

Gabe started to follow.

“... Gabriel?” He dared ask, still staring through the wall.

“Jack?” His now ex-husband asked in return.

“... What did I  _ do?” _

It was silent for a long moment, but then Gabe merely sighed and left the room.

Jack felt numb.

It hadn’t turned into a shouting match.

He really didn’t consider that a victory, though.

* * *

“I don’t know, Jack, I can’t just― I can’t just  _ pick _ one of you!”

Jack scrubbed his hands over his face, leather gloves pulling at the skin uncomfortably. It was delightfully grounding. “Pick Gabe.” He said, and loved and hated in equal measures how empty it sounded. “He needs you.”

“You need me  _ too, _ Jack.” Jesse pressed, voice shaking.

“He needs you  _ more.” _ He looked to him, knowing already there was nothing on his face or in his eyes to give him away, “I’ll be fine. I just need to process.”

“Jack…”

“Go on.” He looked away, “You’ve been with me for the rest of it. Go with him.”

Jesse stood there a moment longer, and Jack could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of his face. But then, blessedly, Jesse turned and walked away.

Jack couldn’t help wondering if maybe this was what had diven Gabe away to begin with. If maybe he’d shut down one too many times. Or seemed to be shut down. Maybe it scared him ― he hated admitting fears. It would make some sense, at least.

Some.

But not enough.

He waited until everyone was gone, until he was alone in his room again, and he let himself silently sob into the pillow that still, miraculously, smelled a bit like Gabe.

He took his wedding ring off in the morning, and quietly sat it in the drawer of the nightstand.

He wondered what Gabe had done with his.

* * *

The assignment was a big one ― called for all of the Elite, and some of the Council. Jack was on orders to protect Gabe, Gabe was on orders to protect him, and Jesse and the other Elites were under orders to protect each other and the Council members to the best of their abilities.

They were going up against a witch.

It was only so enormous an undertaking because of who she was. She had undead minions in spades, enough dark magic to twist the fabric of reality if she wished. Though they had a truce with her in the past, she had violated the terms by taking a villager for an experiment, and now they needed to retrieve the villager, should he still be alive, and attempt to drive her out of the territory, if not kill her.

And it was going as expected, more or less ― the other Elites were distracting her, Gabe and Jesse were engaging with one of her undead minions. Jack was watching Gabe to the best of his ability, while focusing on assisting one of the other Elites with another undead minion.

Until the moment the Elite was speared through the gut and tossed away like refuse, and Jack had to duck out of the way, rolling to avoid being struck as well.

He remembered something striking him anyway, and then everything going black as an awful smell filled his lungs.

* * *

He woke in the witch’s lair.

She taunted him.

He spat blood in her face.

Her face twisted in disgust.

She hit him with some kind of magical bolt, arching pain through his skull and snapping his head down and to the side. Warmth bloomed across his face. Red dripped onto the ground beneath him.

“You will learn,” She said, calmly, “Not to disrespect me.”

“Not likely.” He replied, meeting her gaze again and matching her calm tone note for note.

* * *

He didn’t know how long he was within her clutches. He didn’t care.

He woke in the woods outside the village, aching body protesting as he lifted up. Stumbled through the woods he knew so well. Emerged near enough the Guild that he was spotted by who else but Jesse, who shouted in surprise and delight and horror all at once and all but dragged him inside to be tended to. He allowed it without complaint.

“Jesse.” He had finally said, voice cracked from disuse, when he was bandaged and cleaned. “Where’s Gabriel.”

Jesse’s eyes widened, then strafed away as his shoulders hunched.

Jack already knew the answer at that moment.

Gabriel was dead.

He had to be.

Dead or remarried.

Jesse wouldn’t look so guilty for any other reason.

“During that fight,” Jesse said, not looking at him, “The witch… She…”

Jack felt sick.

His calm cracked for the first time since he’d been taken captive. He clenched his jaw.

“... She captures me, and she kills him.” He said, slowly, “... Who else? What else did she do?”

Jesse hesitated, finally looking at him again. And then, slowly, he shrugged one sleeve of his long, Elite jacket off.

An iron arm with silver linings faced Jack when he did.

He felt sick again.

“Jesse,” He said, mildly distressed.

“Hey,” Jesse said, quickly, pulling his sleeve back up, “Ain’t so bad, Jackie, I’m even gettin’ used to it. Makes for a great makeshift weapon!”

He tried for a smile, and Jack had to hang onto the fact that Jesse was trying.

But the moment he was finally returned to his room, he felt himself start to crack again. He swallowed it down, blinked it away, and asked, “How bad is it? My face.”

“... Gonna be a pretty nasty scar even when it’s done healing, amigo.” Jesse admitted, “She got you pretty good.”

He hummed.

“... You gonna be okay, Jackie?”

He swallowed. “I don’t know yet.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I’ve already cried in front of you too many times.”

Jesse winced, minutely.

“... You flinch like that’s your fault somehow.” He let himself snort. “Like it’s a bad thing I trust you enough.”

Jesse pulled a face, but just a bit. “You don’t want me to see you crying, though.”

“I don’t. But that’s not… Specifically a you thing.” He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and scrunching up in pain when it pulled at his still scarring skin. “I just… You shouldn’t have to see me like that. It’s not your responsibility to comfort me when I’m distressed. You’re still a  _ kid. _ ”

Jesse sighed, but he left quietly.

The door closed behind him, latched softly.

Jack’s shaking hands opened the nightstand’s drawer as he took an uneasy seat on the edge of the bed. Shaking fingers closed around that precious little gold ring. Precious little gold ring rolled into his palm and he clutched it, clutched it in his grasp,  _ clutched it _ to his chest.

A breath shuddered into his lungs.

A sob broke back out.

He curled in on himself and the thoughts drowned even the sound of his own sobbing.

Gabriel was dead.

He was dead and Jack would never know what he’d done to drive him away, would never get a chance to fix his mistake. Would never be able to look at Gabe and apologize and try to make it better. He was dead and Jack was supposed to be watching his back.

He was supposed to be protecting him.

He died because of Jack.

_ He died because of Jack. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You walk on like a woman in suffering,  
>  Won't even bother, now, to tell me why  
> You come along, letting all of us savor the moment  
> Leaving me broken another time."_  
> -"Stricken", Disturbed


	2. death... and rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions are not always sweet.

Jack Morrison disappeared behind a blank white plaster mask for years after the battle ― the Soldier, as they called him in that time, was cruelly efficient at his job. He would kill anything he was told to. He asked few questions and gave fewer answers.

But Jack had emerged again, inevitably, a less physical mask on his face; a glamour, cast by one of the Elites with enough magic. Hiding his scars. Hiding what that witch had done to him. For the sake of professionalism, he told them, for the sake of not frightening anyone more than he had to.

He found Him in the woods, six years after the battle, a year after gaining the routinely re-cast glamour.

The Reaper.

A ghastly, hulking beast made of pitch dark shadows and a stark, white owl’s face. His wings stretched into the branches of the trees, talons curling into the dirt and another set of them braced on the crumbling remains of an old fence. He was growling, low in the back of his throat, in his _chest._ His eyes were black pits within the barn owl’s visage that was his face, lit deep within by a sickly orange light.

And Jack, for the first time since the battle, felt _fear._

Nothing had scared him in the six years since ― nothing had touched him deeply enough to inspire so much as a tickle of it. Werewolves, vampires, dream-eating demons. Wraiths. All manner of terrifying things, things that had even managed to bring him fear in the past… And yet none of it had touched him. None of it came close.

But this creature did.

This creature shot a spike of fear so deeply into his stomach that he almost bolted.

This wasn’t anything he had seen before, wasn’t something he had _trained_ for. They were rare ― so incredibly rare that the writings on them were sparse. He had only seen one or two bestiary entries including them in all his time as a hunter. Only one book dedicated to them.

This was an Omen of Death.

They were not naturally occurring creatures, to his knowledge; rather, they had to be made by a powerful magic-user. Made using the soul of someone killed by that magician (or someone else, under the orders of the magician), pulled forth from their afterlife and formed into a manifestation of death and decay. Made into a creature most befitting the omen of death they would have feared and acknowledged.

This one, this one in particular…

It was a barn owl.

And Jack knew, deep down, exactly whose soul this had to be for that to be true.

The creature’s beak cracked open, a low hiss leaving him.

Then, the first stirrings of a voice.

_“... J...ack…?”_

Of _Gabriel’s_ voice.

He hated being right.

“Gabriel,” He breathed, in return, thoughts stuttering to a halt. Hesitantly thinking of his ring, settled against his chest beneath his shirt, on a delicate golden chain.

The brief, tense silence was shattered quickly enough by a piercing screech from the creature before him, then by the rush of wind as he flapped his massive wings and lifted off the ground. Jack barely had time to duck and roll away when the creature swooped at him, slashing with its claws.

The strike still connected, but only barely.

Only enough that it tore through the fabric of his jacket, a little.

He didn’t stick around, didn’t try to think of how to kill Gabriel again so that he could be at peace. He just took off running back toward the Guild, hunt forgotten and abandoned. He would not find his target in the woods before Gabriel did.

He heard no sounds of pursuit after another ear-grating shriek, but he was too afraid to look over his shoulder, too afraid to find out that Gabriel’s wings were silent and he was pursuing.

He reached the Guild panting and shuddering.

He finally chanced a look over his shoulder and saw the dark black shape of Gabriel’s new form lingering in the trees. He swallowed down his fear and stepped into the wards of the Guild, then into the main building.

When he reported what had happened, affect flat and unworried as usual, he was more or less dismissed to his quarters to wait for another assignment.

He went, of course.

When he stripped off his jacket, the place where he’d been struck smelled like _rot._

He spent most of the evening scrubbing it.

* * *

_“You let me die!”_ Screamed the creature that was once Gabriel. The thing the Guild so lovingly called the Reaper. _“You let her turn me into this!”_

“How could I have _known?”_ Jack shouted back, dodging a swipe of deadly sharp talons, “How could I have _stopped her?”_

Reaper only screeched and dove in again. Talons caught his arm as he lifted it to defend his face, tearing through jacket and shirtsleeve and _skin._ And he held back a scream, bludgeoning the Reaper’s bony white face with the hilt of the silver sword he kept on him at all times. Another screech tore out of the creature, and it jerked away.

But then it knocked the sword from his grasp.

And came for his face again.

He lunged to the side to escape, and talons tore across his back. Ripped open his coat and his shirt and his skin and lanced searing agony up and down his spine and through his ribs and stomach.

He didn’t manage to repress the scream entirely, and it came out a strangled yelp as he swung a kick in the Reaper’s direction that missed its target entirely as he vanished into smoke. He picked himself up as quickly as he could, prepared for another blow, shuddering as a feeling of weakness overtook him. He stumbled backwards sloppily to escape the next strike that came, but it hit its mark and tore across his chest.

The agony lanced through him again, burning and bubbling as the skin tore and blood surged up and spilled over his white shirt and onto the ground.

He didn’t even manage to scream.

He stumbled back again, vision blurry, and tripped into a tree. He hit his head ― not hard.

His swimming vision showed the Reaper approaching.

“Gabe…” He managed, weaker than he wanted to sound, “Please. I don’t want to keep fighting you.”

Surprisingly enough, the Reaper paused.

And then, more surprisingly, backed off.

He felt nothing but malice radiating from the creature, but the Reaper did not approach him again as he struggled to his feet and fought not to curl in on himself. He felt like he was going to be sick. Horribly sick. Everything hurt. He curled his injured arm against his injured chest and eyed the Reaper warily, bracing himself against a tree with his shoulder.

“... Gabriel.” He said, “... Why?”

It got him a snarl and a worrying spread of those pitch dark wings, and he flinched so hard that it sent agony skittering through his nerves from every gash once more.

“... What’s happening to me?” He managed to croak, vision going blurry again as he nearly fell back onto his ass ― years of training kept him on his feet, but only barely. “You didn’t even hit me that hard. Ha. You barely even hit me. Really. Why― Why can’t I breathe?”

His chest tightened further as he asked, and he tried to blink the blurriness away. It only made black spots dance in front of his eyes.

The malice radiating off of the Reaper seemed to cut off.

His vision cleared a little, and he watched as the Reaper melted away into the darkness.

 _“Go back to the Guild, Morrison.”_ He hissed, in Gabriel’s voice, _“I won’t face you like this.”_

Jack knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, of course ― if the Death Omen, Reaper was letting him live, he needed to take advantage of it. Long enough he could find the bitch who had done this, at least, and forced her to set Gabriel free. Which meant he needed to listen.

He needed to get back to the Guild.

He stumbled away from the tree. Through the narrow lanes between all the other trees, until he emerged back outside the edges of the village. He nearly tripped on the uneven ground, clutching his arm to his chest and keeping the other ready to catch himself. He made it as far as the first building on the road leading into town before he did stumble and catch himself against it.

His arm gave out quickly, of course, and he slumped against the wall. Onto the ground.

His unfocused eyes slid to his arm and his chest in a daze. The talon marks on his arm weren’t too deep, he didn’t think ― but the blood had stained his coat sleeve already, pooling now on his lap and staining his pants as well before soaking into the ground if it reached that far. Shaking fingers traced the wounds, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton, ears ringing. They were starting to turn black at the edges, beneath the blood.

He pressed those same shaking fingers into the wounds on his chest, smearing the blood away and lancing pain through his whole body yet again. His vision went black, temporarily.

These wounds were turning black at the edges as well, and he could see the bone of his chest through the blood.

He struggled to suck in a breath.

Suddenly, pristine white boots and a pristine white skirt in front of him.

“Oh, dear,” A soft, melodic voice said, “Let’s get you up, my friend.”

Angela.

The new witch the Guild was allied with.

A practitioner of light magic to counteract and avoid their prior mistake. Someone whose passion was to heal. To help.

He was lifted, not by Angela, and carried without even a bump until he was within her shop.

“Sleep, my friend. I will sort you out.”

He listened.

* * *

Jack was not sure what to think when he entered Jesse’s quarters after a long hunt to find Jesse nursing a black eye and a man he didn’t know sitting primly upon one of Jesse’s chair, sipping a viscous looking red liquid from a teacup.

“Ah,” Said the man, setting his cup down and smiling politely. “You must be Jack. I have heard much about you already. I am Genji Shimada. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He had stood, and now bowed at the waist.

When he straightened, he bore a grin with too-sharp teeth, and Jack nearly reached for his sword on instinct. _Vampire_. But Jesse didn’t seem distressed by his presence, and he’d been nothing so far if not polite.

He was currently missing an arm, as well, Jack noticed.

“Yeah.” He let himself say, sweeping his eyes over him with a frown, “The same to you.”

He turned to Jesse, brows lifting.

“He’s with us, don’t worry,” Jesse placated, easily, “Blacksmith’s makin’ ‘im some new limbs, and Angela cleared ‘im.”

Limbs?

Plural?

Ah. Yes, at second glance, he _was_ bracing himself on little more than a peg leg at the current moment.

He raised a brow.

Genji showed him that grin once more, easing himself back into his seat. “I was hungry,” He said, unbothered, “Thought a Hunter like our friend Jesse might make a good snack, especially out of uniform as he was.” He laughed, “I sorely underestimated him, and I can respect the quick thinking it took for him to defend himself against me well enough to _dig silver claws into my bicep_ and lose me my whole arm as a result.” A pause, “That aside, I like him, and this could be a fun enough occupation until the day he finally passes. Which will likely be some time from now, given I imagine he will greet Death kicking and screaming.”

He blinked, slowly, then nodded. Whatever. He would accept it.

They could use all the help they could get, and any friendly creature was good enough in his book. Even one doing it because it seemed ‘fun’ was better than their tenuous relation with Angela in that Genji clearly wanted to take an active role, and every additional set of helping hands was better than the last.

Jesse gave him a grin, “Hey,” He said, “I told ya it’d make for a good makeshift weapon.” He wiggled his metal fingers at him, still not at all bothered by the situation and clearly trying to make light of it so that Jack wouldn’t worry about him.

Jack stared at him a moment. His chest twinged with the familiar sting of long-removed curses from Gabriel’s talons, and he absently rubbed at the offending spot before sighing and shaking his head.

“Jesse,” He said, “You are going to get yourself killed if you fistfight any more vampires.”

But he couldn't help smiling, because really… He would have done the same thing, in Jesse’s position, when he was Jesse’s age. A vampire coming at his face? An iron arm with silver linings and silver _claws?_ Clearly he needed to use his makeshift supernatural entity killer.

But young Jack was another person than current Jack.

And current Jack was more likely to never be found unarmed than he was to be caught with any sort of makeshift weapon.

Jesse grinned back at him, as did Genji, and Jack got the feeling they were going to be _best_ friends.

It made him homesick ― for Gabe, mostly, but for his friend Charlie as well.

He hadn’t seen her since right after the divorce was finalized. Had gotten himself into enough scraps in the meantime that he didn’t want to chance taking that kind of danger around her and her beautiful wife.

He wondered how she was.

Another part of him wondered about Gabe, and he harshly stomped that part into oblivion. Gabe wasn’t Gabe anymore. That _thing_ had Gabe’s voice and memories and temper, but it wasn’t him. It was a Death Omen, and Gabriel Reyes was dead.

Fuck Moira.

… But he hadn’t come here to mourn Gabriel, and he wasn’t going to.

He was going to see how Jesse was doing, he was going to get to know Genji, and he was pointedly _not_ going to do anything concerning the man he’d once married or the ring still on a chain under his shirt.

* * *

Jesse turned down jobs often enough that it wasn’t uncommon for them to be passed on to Jack instead.

Jack never asked questions when it happened ― Jesse had his reasons, he knew, but as long as Jack wasn’t privy to what those reasons were he didn’t care. He would kill what he was told to kill, retrieve what he was told to retrieve, because while he sat biding his time and gathering information on Moira, he had little else to do.

But when he was handed the small photograph for his target ― a surprisingly high quality thing, given he was usually handed artists’ sketches ―, he felt a sense of minute hesitation. The person in the photo, the _werewolf_ he was being sent after… He looked familiar.

Very familiar.

But Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on why, staring at the face cast in greyscale, so he decided to ignore it.

He arrived at the little cabin a few miles outside of town in short order. Observed a deer carcass, still fresh, strung up nearby the front door, throat torn out but pieces clearly cut carefully away with a knife. He observed a moment ― why have him kill a werewolf who seemed to be hunting wild animals to live? Who had the wolf hurt to garner the attention of the Guild?

If he was clear-headed enough to skin and clean a deer after tearing its throat out, surely he wasn’t a threat?

Unless, of course, he was a Lycan and couldn’t control himself during a Full Moon.

But the teeth marks in the deer’s throat… Those weren’t Lycan teeth. They were too small ― a Lycan would have bitten clean through a deer’s throat, snapped the neck. Maybe even removed the head by accident in the process.

He was dealing with a _Werewolf_ , not a Lycanthrope.

And Wolves were not, he knew, nearly as inherently dangerous as Lycans.

He pushed his doubts down.

He wasn’t here to cause a stir in the Guild by asking questions. Not after twenty-odd years of silently obeying his orders, laying in wait for the chance to strike Moira.

Besides.

Once he forced Moira to release Gabriel’s spirit and then killed her, he was going straight to Hell anyway. Hardly the time for him to grow a conscience. He’d be dead in the next three years, no point caring again and trying to atone when he was out of time already.

Still.

He approached the door, straining his ears and hearing… Cutlery? The scrape of a spoon against a bowl. A quiet sigh.

He frowned, raising a fist and knocking.

Scrambling.

The door opened, a little, and he was faced with a young man about the same age he had been when he became a Council member ― blonde, big blue eyes. Strong jaw. Handsome.

“Oh,” He said, “Hello. Can I help you?”

There was a tenseness in his posture ― Jack imagined he could smell the silver on him. Could gather from the wide brimmed hat and the coat brushing the surface of the porch behind him who and what he was. But his face was kind, nonetheless, open and friendly.

“So you’re the werewolf hanging around these parts.” He said, rather tactlessly, with his usual flat affect.

The open, friendly expression shut itself instantly, fear lighting in the young man’s eyes. He shrunk in on himself, eyes widening, lips pressing nervously together.

And then, before Jack could process it, he was being pushed backwards and the young man was booking it down the steps and across the ground, shifting on the fly into a beautiful golden wolf ― beautiful, but obviously unnatural even when one didn’t know what he was.

He gave chase, of course.

How hard could a golden wolf be to find in the darkness of the woods?

… Harder than he had thought, evidently, because he found no trace of him.

He gave in quickly, probably too quickly ― he was a persistence hunter, after all. He wasn’t built for tracking. That had always been Gabriel, and later Jesse. They tracked, Jack struck. Except in the rare cases when Gabriel did both, or they were teamed so he and Jesse could both track and strike.

Still, his point was that he didn’t track, and he couldn’t outrun a healthy young wolf.

He pursued and he ambushed, if needed.

He returned to the cabin to lay a trap, spending the first several moments getting a feel for his target, searching for anything that may have earned him a death sentence from the Guild.

But there were no traces of anything of the sort, and Wolves tended to collect those sorts of things in their dens. All there were were a couple of deer skulls, and hunting deer was not something the Guild killed for. Not the last time he’d bothered checking, anyway. Wolves still needed to eat. As long as they didn’t eat humans…

He paused in his search, eyes drawn to a small photo on the nightstand.

The young man, clearly, was one subject within it.

The other subjects were―

By God, the other subjects were Charlie and her wife, Ava.

They sat beside each other, hands clasped together, and the young man sat between them on the floor, one of their hands on each of his shoulders. He was younger in the photo ― probably still a teenager.

Charlie had a son.

It was clear enough from the photo that this young man was her son ― the pose, the familiarity in the photo, the _comfort._ The worn edges of the photo frame where someone had clearly held it not unlike the way he currently held it.

Pieces fell into place.

Pieces he wasn’t sure that he liked.

The boy was blonde. Only the Morrisons, in this village, were blonde, not counting the occasional traveler in the Guild. He had blue eyes, and almost every man he knew of within the village aside from the Morrisons had brown eyes. Even the occasional outlier didn’t usually have blue ― green or grey, most often. Really, at the moment, the only other blue eyed blonde in the whole county besides this boy and himself that he knew of was Angela.

He was a young man, probably in his twenties, and he was _Charlie’s,_ and Jack barely remembered the night he had received and signed the divorce papers.

He remembered doing something with Charlie, had always remembered that, and remembered another set of papers that he’d signed before he was really even all that drunk.

This boy was his.

He had to be.

There was no one else he could think of that he could belong to.

He was still stewing over it, off in the corner away from the bed, when hesitant footsteps reentered the cabin.

The young man had returned.

He sat, panting, for a moment, on the edge of the bed. Reached for the nightstand and froze when he found the picture was not there. The look of horror on his face, pure terror, tugged at Jack in ways he was _not_ fond of.

He took a few steps closer, and eyes snapped to him.

“So.” He said, leaning past the young wolf to place the photo back where it had been, careful not to drop it. “How has your mother been? I haven’t spoken to her in twenty years. Wasn’t aware she and Ava had a child.”

The kid looked like he might try to run again, so Jack did the only thing he could think of to keep him in place ― he scruffed him.

“Just answer the question, kid.”

“... I don’t know,” He squeaked, “I haven’t talked to her since I turned! I didn’t want to put her in danger!”

Jack hummed. Tightened his grip and hauled the kid to his feet. “Got somethin’ I need to do, then.”

The fear radiating off the kid made him feel a little bad ― but it’d be gone soon enough.

He hauled him down the road, to the village. Into the Guild.

Before the rest of the Council.

“I refuse to kill this one.” He said, keeping flat as always, “And anyone else who tries will die. He’s mine.”

“Morrison―”

“I will not kill my own son.”

A hush fell over the room.

The kid looked like he was realizing something.

But it wasn’t until they’d made their way back out of the Guild after an agreement that the boy wasn’t to be touched that he spoke, walking stiffly at Jack’s side back toward the cabin.

“Y-you’re… You’re Jack? Jack Morrison?” He asked, hesitant, still scruffed.

Jack let go when he realized.

“I am. You mom talk about me?”

“Yeah… Momma did too, sometimes, but less often. They said you were… Really busy.” He laughed, weakly, probably just this side of hysterical, “I guess I understand now.”

He hummed.

Paused on the steps.

The kid paused on the porch.

“Stay outa trouble.” He said, “I’ll keep someone’s eyes on you. If there’s any trouble with other Guild members… None of ‘em are as good as me or my boys. You give ‘em the slip like you did me and you come get me. I’ll kick their teeth in.”

“You don’t even know me…” He replied, weakly, “And you’re just gonna…?”

“I didn’t get a chance to raise you. I’ll keep you safe now, best I can.” He shrugged. “I’ll let your mom know you’re alright for ya. Got a long overdue talk to be having with her anyway.”

“Okay,” He agreed, after a moment. “M-my name is Tobi, by the way.”

Jack felt something in him crack, looking at this young man, his twenty-something son. He let his face soften. “It’s nice to meet you, Tobi. I’ll be back sometime soon.”

Tobi smiled, some of the tension draining out of him. Jack took note of the bite scar on his neck ― not a wolf bite. Human teeth marks. Someone had bitten him while human. Probably a total accident. He must not have had any clue what was going on. Must have been scared.

He wondered if Gabe had felt the same way.

He shook the thought off, smiling a little at his son, and tried to get used to the idea. He still needed to fully come to terms, but… For now.

For now.

He had a start.

And he needed to talk to Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last fic of 2020 let's goooooooooooo
> 
> I wrote the first two chapters literally in the span of 7 hours while super sleep deprived so I honestly apologize for any glaring spelling/grammar mistakes lol


	3. family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks are had.
> 
> Changes are made.
> 
> It might be time to start worrying.

He talked to Charlie, of course ― showed up on her doorstep, blank and grim.

“Jack,” She said, when she saw him after opening the door, “You’re still alive.”

Her hair was almost entirely white now, which was a far more stark difference with the remainder of her black hair than the white had ever been with Jack’s own blonde hair. Really, she seemed to only have streaks of black left. Her brown, almond shaped eyes were still just as sharp as ever, though he imagined her eyesight had begun to fail her in recent years. couldn’t have perfect vision forever, regrettably, without supernatural intervention.

The surprise she obviously felt didn’t really manage to rattle him, as much as he wished that it would. Just another reaction, like many people’s on realizing he’d survived Moira.

“I am.” He said, then, “Do you know where your son is, Charlie?”

She winced, “I… No. I haven’t seen him since after that boyfriend of his ran off a couple years back.”

“He’s alive.” Jack told her, to settle her, and was glad it wasn’t entirely  _ instinct _ that made him say it. “Living outside of town. Seems to be living off hunts.” He paused to allow her time to feel relieved, “I would have liked to be  _ told _ I had a kid out there, Chuck.”

She winced again, but smiled, “Ah, I know you don’t remember but I always thought…” The smile faded, “I always thought maybe you did, and just didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“If I had known,” He told her firmly, “I would have been helping you.”

“... You always wanted kids as much as I did,” She sighed, nodding, “But with you always busy, and then with what happened to―” She didn’t continue the sentence, gritting her teeth and looking away before saying, “I didn’t think, if you had survived that, that I should bother you.”

“He seems like you did a good job with him,” He sighed, feeling himself crack and letting it happen, “I’m glad you had him through all this, honestly. I like to think I’d have been a good influence, or the best influence I could have been, but… The last twenty years, especially the early ones…” He shook his head. “I’ve barely been here. Little more than a ghost.”

She smiled at him, softly, comfortingly, and he remembered why they had been best friends. She’d always been good at cracking through the shell of a shutdown, and he’d been good at doing the same to her ― like minds, similar coping mechanisms. All the experience needed to help.

“He’s a werewolf, by the way.” He told her, after a moment, “The kid. That’s why he hasn’t been back to see you. Too scared of bringing attention to you.”

Her eyes went a little wide, but when she spoke it wasn’t fearful for the reason he thought ― “Oh, God, they sent you after him?”

“Hell of a way to find out I have a son.” He said, by way of answer. “If they hadn’t tried to give it to Jesse first…”

She fanned her face, nodding her understanding. “I― God. God, okay.” A deep breath, “I have the agreement we made, by the way, in here. All written up and pretty-like. If you want to look at it?”

“I remember signing it. Can’t hurt to jog my memory on what it says.”

She swiftly fetched it, and after perusing it a moment he felt… Something. He had full rights to see the kid, the whole time, rights to call him his son even though his role had mostly been in sperm donation. Then again, the fact Ava and Charlie had told the kid about him had suggested he might have  _ some _ rights as the sperm donor.

Charlie’s silence on the matter of Ava, and the fact he hadn’t heard her voice yet, told him all he needed to know on that front… As did the fact the kid had only ever referred to one mother, really. “Mom” and “Momma”, but “Momma” had only come up a single time.

Charlie must be a widow.

He could relate, but he had to admit he was glad that Ava would likely stay dead.

He and Charlie talked a while longer, of course, but ultimately he bade her goodbye and headed back out of town.

All this walking back and forth… He was going to get caught out by Reaper on one of these passes, he was sure.

Paranoid eyes scanned the woods on one side, the open fields on the other.

No sign of the unnatural blackness or the bone white face.

But that didn’t mean that Reaper wasn’t around ― just that Jack couldn’t see him. Not exactly comforting information, but he at least had the safety of knowing that Gab― that the Reaper usually didn’t pursue him outside of the woods. Only watched from a distance. Much like he had when he was Gabriel.

He would watch, study, wait.

Wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Now was not that moment ― Jack was on his guard, clearly in the middle of a mission and not likely to be deterred and  _ not _ likely to be swayed into a fight if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. The Reaper had learned that much about him in the last fourteen-odd years, if nothing else. He would wait.

At least until Jack was making his return trip.

Until he looked to be less guarded.

The conversation was blessedly lax, when he arrived back to the cabin. There was some discussion of how Tobi had become a werewolf, which was a story Jack felt was far too much like something that would have happened to him when he was younger… Everything he learned about this boy just proved more and more that they were  _ definitely _ related. If not the looks or the fact he now knew for sure from Charlie’s admission, then from the fact that Tobi was just as simultaneously terribly smart and horrifically stupid as Jack himself.

After all… Getting turned into a werewolf because you were necking with one and he got a little too excited sounded  _ exactly _ like something that would happen to Jack.

But then, with another promise to send someone to keep an eye on him if need be, he headed back to the Guild.

* * *

_ “― not as if I expected you to  _ **_care_ ** _ ―” _

To say that Jack was getting tired of arguing with the Reaper would be an understatement. This  _ thing  _ with Gabriel’s voice and temper and memories… It had three times the sass and drama that Gabriel had had, and was probably more stubborn than Gabriel and Jack combined. Perhaps that was merely the influence of being dead, and feeling he had nothing to lose.

Perhaps it was truly that the real Gabriel was gone.

No matter the reason, Jack was tired of being accused of things and not being told what those things were.

And to be accused of  _ not caring? _

“Don’t you _dare!”_ He found himself snapping ― calm cracking like ice and giving way to anger that was only fueled by the fear and the _pain,_ “Don’t you _dare_ tell me I didn’t care about you! If _either_ of us didn’t care, Reaper, it was _you._ ” At the snarl that got him, he only curled his lips back over his teeth and continued, _“You_ were the one who ended things, _not me._ _You_ decided to separate, _you_ decided to get divorced―”

An ear-piercing screech, and then a distinctly canine snarl and a flash of gold.

God.

God  _ dammit, _ Tobi and his sharp fucking ears had overheard them somehow.

“Tobi,” He warned, as Reaper reared up dangerously.

_ “Strong words for someone who seems to have moved on.” _ Reaper hissed, lowly.

And Tobi, hackles raised, stayed between the two of them even as Jack moved to scruff him and attempt to drag him out of the way.

“Tobi, this has  _ nothing _ to do with you, you’re going to get yourself  _ hurt.” _ Jack uttered, ignoring Reaper’s barb for the time being but being unable to avoid snapping back, “It happened  _ once, _ Reaper, that’s hardly moving on.”

But hauling a full-grown wolf backwards, let alone carrying it out of harm’s way, was a task better left to Jesse, or better yet to  _ Genji. _ He wasn’t managing much.

Reaper seemed as if he might reply, snarling, and at that moment Tobi blessedly transformed back into a  _ person, _ stumbling a little when Jack finally managed to scruff him as a result and start hauling him back.

“I’m not just gonna let you get hurt―” He said, as he was pulled, sounding disgruntled and a little angry.

… Unfortunately, the revelation that the wolf that had jumped between them was a shifter did nothing to quell Reaper’s anger ― he snapped out a furious-sounding,  _ “Got a taste for younger boys now, Jackie?” _

And Jack, really, could have gagged.

Tobi  _ did. _

And though Jack had intended to say nothing to Reaper on the subject of having a grown-ass child, Tobi responded to the snap with a disgusted, “He’s my  _ dad,  _ you nasty fuck!”

Reaper went horribly,  _ horribly _ still and silent.

Jack would not look a gift horse like that in the mouth.

And a full-grown human was a lot easier to carry than a full-grown wolf.

He hauled Tobi by the scruff of his neck out of the clearing they’d been in, urging him to hustle as they stepped through the undergrowth. If they could get out of the forest before Reaper decided to pursue, they’d be fine. He didn’t often leave the forest ― it was his preferred haunt, the last twenty-odd years. If he went anywhere else, he didn’t do it when Jack was around. By all means he likely left at  _ times, _ but he never seemed to pursue Jack outside of it.

Still.

Reaper was far too close to the cabin.

Far too close to his  _ son. _

His son who was  _ far too willing to put himself in danger for him. _

“I appreciate the attempt to keep me safe,” He said, once they were back at the cabin, though not inside, panting a bit, “But that was a  _ very _ bad idea. That was an Omen of Death, Tobi, if he decides to come after you there’s nothing anyone can do for you.”

“Better me than―”

“ _ No,” _ He cut him off, “No, not better you than me. I’m old and he hates my guts and I’m probably going to be dead before the decade is up as a result of trying to get rid of him anyway. You still have a whole life ahead of you.”

“What’s it worth if I don’t have anybody to spend it with?” Tobi countered, “I already lost Momma, Mom’s getting to the point where she’s about to be on her way to meet her, and now you are too? I don’t have anybody else, dad, and I don’t do well on my own.”

Jack sighed.

It was a good point.

“... Still. Don’t waste your life trying to save mine. It’s not your job to keep me safe, and Reaper… Reaper’s bark is worse than his bite.” Not necessarily true, he recalled, legs temporarily turning to jelly at the memory of collapsing against Angela’s home, bleeding out, but considering that he’d never been affected like that by Reaper’s strikes again afterwards… “He might attack you, but he usually doesn’t bother doing more than yelling at me.”

Tobi frowned, a little. “All I felt off him was  _ evil, _ dad. Especially after I told him I was your kid.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s gonna be pissed about that for a  _ while.” _ Jack grimaced, “Which is why I’m gonna have a couple friends of mine watching you when possible. And your mom, for that matter ― did she ever make it out here?”

“She’s inside.” The wolf admitted, “I was out there trying to hunt, so I had meat for her to make stew with…”

“So that’s why you were out there,” He sighed, “I’ll see what help I can offer on that front, too.”

Eventually he managed to get Tobi to go back inside, and with that, and a chill running down his spine the moment he was alone, Jack headed back toward town.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to convince Jesse, who had already been informed of the situation, to go and meet his son and keep an eye on him. Genji agreed to help, as well, but said that for the moment he was busy with his preparations to meet his brother briefly for some kind of pseudo-peace talk. Jack hadn’t met Hanzo, nor had he heard much about him, but he’d been told he was a hardass, “not unlike you, Jack, but ancient and traditional and far more likely to tear the throat out of the first Hunter to give him a look he does not appreciate”.

But, regardless, Jesse went to meet him.

And returned with a look in his eyes that Jack, regrettably, recognized.

The look of a crush.

And he guessed it wasn’t unreasonable ― Jesse wasn’t all that much older than Tobi was, and they were both grown men. He just wasn’t sure how he felt about it, because that was, you know, his  _ son. _

Alternatively, Jesse had gotten a crush on Charlie, and Jack would admit he’d find that  _ hilarious. _

But either way, no matter which of the residents of the cabin was the subject, Jesse came back with a crush. A crush that Jack politely ignored. It wasn’t his business. And, that aside, it would be very helpful for Jesse to have a crush on one of them, because he was fiercely protective  _ anyway, _ but that would give him further incentive to do the job that Jack had asked of him.

He just wouldn’t say anything for now.

* * *

Genji, as it turned out, got along with Tobi and Charlie just as well as Jack and Jesse did, so at least Jack’s arrangement for having Tobi accompanied and watched didn’t turn out horribly. Despite Tobi’s status as a werewolf and Genji’s as a vampire, the two of them got on like a house on fire, and with Genji watching Tobi’s back when he was hunting, Jack was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

He knew something would have to give eventually.

He wasn’t expecting it to be him getting dragged into the woods by the scruff of his neck on his way back to the Guild from visiting his son, the sound of Reaper snarling resounding in his ears.

He was thrown with little grace against a tree, which knocked the air from his lungs a little too easily.

He was too old for this.

Capable of handling it, sure, but too old nonetheless.

There was no talking this time ― not really.

Mostly just Reaper screeching and slashing at him, and him doing his best to avoid being caught out by those razor sharp talons. But Reaper was much faster than he was, and much stronger.

Inevitably, he ended up pinned beneath the creature, talons digging into his left arm, snapping through the bone, cutting though prior claw marks, slicing like a hot knife through butter. He screamed ― a cut off, muffled noise. And still, of course, tried to defend his face from the downward arc of Reaper’s talons.

His right arm, the arm not pinned, took the brunt of the slash.

All the way to the bone, he knew, because Reaper was not pulling his punches this time.

His arm was knocked out of the way, and the same strike caught him in the face. Blood bloomed inside his cheek from the impact with his teeth. He spat and found he couldn’t lift his arm. Not from a curse, he didn’t think, because the feeling of weakness was isolated there.

_ “I hope your bastard finds you.”  _ Reaper hissed,  _ “So I can get rid of him too.” _

His next strike hit Jack in the ribs, and he coughed.

“Don’t―” He coughed again, spitting blood a second time. “Don’t take it out on  _ him, _ Reaper, he’s not part of this.”

_ “I’m not stopping until this village is wiped off the map,  _ **_Soldier._ ** _ ”  _ Reaper sneered in reply, condescending as could be,  _ “I’ll see you in Hell with the rest of the Guild.” _

He raised up, likely planning to land the final strike now that Jack was starting to realize he could barely breathe, couldn’t move his arms almost at all, and a blur of gold appeared.

Knocked the Omen off-balance.

Oh, God.

_ Tobi. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You'll never know how your face has haunted me  
>  My very soul has to bleed this time  
> Another hole in the wall of my inner defenses  
> Leaving me breathless, the reason  
> I know that I am stricken and can't let you go  
> When the heart is cold, there's no hope, and we know  
> That I am crippled by all that you've done  
> Into the abyss will I run."_  
> -"Stricken", Disturbed
> 
> there will be more to this AU, but this is the end of this particular fic lol  
> make sure to subscribe to the series (or check in regularly), because who knows when i'll update? not me that's for sure


End file.
